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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755737">the self is not so weighty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot'>robinlikeitshot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Attempt Aftermath, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, a lot of rambling, unedited we die like rbonis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:20:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim remembers thinking, back when he was thirteen and young and donning the bright red and yellow and green for the first time, that he wasn’t going to make it to eighteen, that there was no way. Surely there would be something, an alien attack, odds he finally couldn’t beat, hell, even the Joker.</p><p>But Tim is seventeen years old now. Tim is seventeen years old, and he may have survived, but no one else did. Tim is seventeen years old, and he’s finally realizing that it won’t be the Joker that kills him, no, but it might just be himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so mind the tags yall, tims got. issues. if you think any of this stuff might be a trigger for you, than please, please put yourself first and don't read this as it does go into a lot of the self-hating thought that tim experiences<br/>this is in fact, a one am keyboard smash, and i wrote this all five minutes ago, so there's probably a few mistakes.there will be another chapter,whichll probs come out in a few days, idk kinda tired rn<br/>title is from Achilles come down<br/>aight, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s so warm. The air, muggy and humid, the city hanging in its glimmering mirage. There’s sweat gathering at his brow, seeping slowly into his mask, slowly yet surely eroding the adhesive.</p><p>It should be cold. It should be freezing, wind and ice strong enough to freeze him where he stands, to stop him from inching ever closer to that shaking edge, but it’s not, because it’s July, two fucking days before his birthday, and ninety-two degrees at 2 am in the <em>fucking</em> morning.</p><p>So it’s warm. The thought makes the coolness of the wind rushing through his air sound all the more appealing, though. So why does every step feel like a heartbeat? Thundering and rocking up his chest in vibrations that consume every sound, till all he can see is that ledge, till all he can hear is that wildly spiking <em>thu-thump, thu-thum—</em></p><p>One breath. Another. One foot forward. Another. They could be his last. The thought shouldn’t make Tim feel as relieved as it does, but it <em>does</em>. No more of the mornings lying in bed feeling like the world’s most disgusting waste of space, a failure, an annoying little speck that should just be thrown down into one of the cave caverns till everyone forgets about him because the only way he’ll be worth anything is as food for the fucking <em>bats</em>. No more of the side-glances exchanged by his family as he declines another invitation, when his brightest smile is only displayed at galas and fundraisers. No more of the hollow space in his chest that was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost, a reminder of what he could still lose. A reminder that he should just give it up when he still has the chance, when he can spare everyone else the pain too.</p><p>It’s the reminder that lead him up here, boots inching closer to the edge of Wayne Enterprise’s roof, because he wouldn’t be a bat if he didn’t have at least a few dramatic bones in his body, now would he? It’s the reminder that lead him to sign off early and disable his comm, which now lies on the opposite end of the roof. His grapple right next to it, thrown their after he’d chickened out on the last two times.</p><p>This time, though, there’s no contingincy. Nothing but a black cape seperating him and the sparkling white pavement in front of the revolving entrance. No last minute saves, no plans, no back ups. All he needs to do is take a few more steps. A few more soft clicks of his boots, because it seems he abandoned stealth along with the chip Bruce had asked him to keep on after he’d disappeared for two days till Jason called him in after finding him passed out in an abandoned warehouse off the docks. That’s all he needs.</p><p>It’s not easy. But Tim knows it’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to go to sleep one more time, so he doesn’t hesitate when he finally places one foot on the raised ledge. The other is harder, but he manages.</p><p>His cape is fluttering behind him. For a second, if Tim closes his eyes, letting his balance keep him grounded, he can almost pretend he’s okay, that his grapple is secured at his hip, that the only reason he’s jumping is to <em>fly</em>.</p><p>But he can’t keep them closed forever, at least not until he takes that final leap.</p><p>Tim allows himself a moment though, to rest his eyes on the city he’s going to be abandoning. But it’s okay. Gotham has more than enough defenders now, she doesn’t need him. No one does, in the end. He’s tried so hard, to make sure those lights flickering in the shadowy mass of builiding were ones of hope, of safety rather than the all-consuming fire of a burning wreckage, but now, it’s time for him to finally have his break.</p><p>Because Tim remembers thinking, back when he was thirteen and young and donning the bright red and yellow and green for the first time. That he wasn’t going to make it to eighteen, that there was no way. Surely there would be something, an alien attack, odds he finally couldn’t beat, hell, even the Joker.</p><p>But Tim is seventeen years old now. Tim is seventeen years old, and he may have survived, but no one else did. Tim is seventeen years old, and he’s finally realizing that it won’t be the Joker that kills him, no. But it might just be himself.</p><p>Tim takes another breath. Then another. It’s hard to let go. It’s hard not to get caught up in the ramble of his thoughts, in the way that the lights underneath him shine and glimmer with promise. There’s nothing beneath them but grime and dirt, though, Tim’s learned the hard way. Nothing but sacrifices and blood and a game that he just can’t play any longer.</p><p>Tim takes another breath. Then he lifts his foot. His balance is impeccable, even with one foot hovering over a five hundred foot drop. He thinks. Well, he should think. But Tim’s been thinking for so long, hell, it’s what got him into this mess, after all. He wants to stop thinking. God, does he want it <em>so bad</em>.</p><p>He hopes it doesn’t hurt. So many things already hurt so bad, Tim can’t help but feel that death should be the one thing that doesn’t.</p><p>That’s the last thing that crosses his mind, before he shifts an increment forward, and all he can feel is the <em>whoosh</em> in his hair and his stomach dropping—</p><p>In his last moments, Tim thinks about his family. He loves them so much, he hopes they all know that. He hopes they don’t feel guilty, that they realize that this is all his fault. That this was inevitable.</p><p>The ground is hurtling towards him. Tim’s fingers twitch towards his belt, before he remembers.</p><p>He doesn’t have much time left. Tim closes his eyes, one hand clutching the R at his chest while the other lies over the pocket in his suit with that picture of him at four years old, sitting on a young Dick Grayson’s lap.</p><p>He’ll be fine. It’ll be over soo—</p><p>Strong arms wrap around him as he’s lifted into the air again, and Tim <em>screams</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Tim, please, may I,” and one hand detaches to surreptitiously wipe at his wet lashes, “may I hug you?”</p><p>And. There’s a place in Tim’s chest, that wants to pull away. That wants to burrow under the covers and wait for the world to move on before he can see sunlight again. But his brother’s arms just look so much more <i>warmer</i>.</p><p>Maybe, maybe just this once—</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anonymous asked:<br/>All I want for Christmas is youuuuuuu and the second chapter for the self is not so weighty!!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE everything you write !! Happy holidays and stay healthy!</p><p>thank you!!im so glad you like itt!</p><p>so, self is not so weighty. this chapter fought with me, A Lot, which was primarily why hadn't updated it in so long lol. I'm still not~totally happy with it, but its pretty much just as indulgent and unedited as the first chapter.<br/>hope u like it!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim comes to to the the sound of a beeping heart monitor. <i>Thu-thump, thu-thum—</i></p><p>Shaking off the fogginess in his head, he sits up, on a bed that is most definitely not one of his own, which of course begs the question, <i>where is he</i>. The sheets are cheap, and—Tim frowns as his attempt to push himself off is hampered by an IV line connected to his arm, and was that <i>blood</i>? </p><p>Carefully taking the line out, and doing a quick check to make sure he’s not being drugged, Tim stands up. He takes a step forward, the thin cotton of the blanket slipping between his fingers, before having to catch himself on the frame when he immediately stumbles. Because he remembers.</p><p>Remembers how he failed. He’d been a second too late, had allowed himself to get <i>caught</i>. How could Tim have made such a huge mistake? Eyes flitting around the messy room he’d woken up in, he can’t help the little voice inside him that hopes that it wasn’t the bats who’d saved him. Maybe, if he gets out now, takes down whoever’s captured him, wipe the WE surveillance cams, he can go back and pretend nothing happened. </p><p>Mind made up, Tim summons what little strength he has remaining, and walks over to the only window in the room, with every step making him more lightheaded. He almost collapses against the glass when he finally reaches the window, but he’s still able to take apart the lock in under twenty seconds, so it’s alright. It’s fine. </p><p>Taking a deep breath to steady himself, and muttering a quick prayer that he’s not going to tip off the fire escape in broad daylight, Tim pulls himself up—</p><p>“Please don’t go.” </p><p><i>There goes that plan</i>. Tim turns around, hoping his face doesn’t look as wrecked as it did last night (if it even was last night, how much time had he <i>lost</i>), to meet the tired gaze of his older brother, with a look on his face that Tim hasn’t seen since the man put down the cowl for good. </p><p>Dick’s leaning up against the doorway, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with a logo too faded to make out. He’s looking at Tim, like he expects him to say something. Tim isn’t sure what he could say without knowing what Dick thinks happened last night, so he stands there, returning the other’s stare.</p><p>Eventually Dick sighs, takes a step into the room. Tim wants to move back a little, to put a little more space between himself and the questions that will no doubt be asked, but the wall allows him no room. A pained expression passes across Dick’s face when he realizes, but it quickly leaves to be replaced by a neutral one.</p><p>“Can you please sit down again, babybird?” he asks, voice soft. </p><p>Tim doesn’t want to. “Why?” He almost winces upon hearing his own voice, scratchy and rough from disuse. </p><p>Dick takes a few more steps, till Tim feels like he could reach out and touch him, if he wanted. “Because you, you’ve lost a lot of blood, Tim. You’re injured, so please, just,” he raises his hand, palm up. Tim could take it, if he wanted. “Lay back down. For me?”</p><p>The ‘it’s the least you could do’ is unspoken, but Tim can still hear it, loud and clear like every one of his worst nightmares come to life. Swallowing, Tim lets his gaze pass the open hand, and walks back shakily to the rumpled bed. Sits down. Blankly hears Dick lock the window again, another heavy sigh followed by padded footsteps. He unfolds a wooden chair leaning up against the wall, before collapsing on it in front of him.</p><p>Dick looks terrible. Tim feels bad for thinking it, but it’s true. His eyes are bloodshot, deep, dark circles beneath them, and his usually tan skin is pale, dark hair limp and messy—</p><p>“Why’d you do it?”</p><p>Tim looks away, but his eyes land on the window again so he turns his gaze down to his hands, twisting in their sheets. He’s sure there’s an answer somewhere, somewhere beneath that mess of emotions tangled up in his chest, the ones he’d tried so hard to cut loose. But he doesn’t want to think about it, so he just shrugs. “Don’t know.”</p><p>Dick doesn’t look like he believes him, but Tim isn’t sure what to say to convince him otherwise. Instead he asks, “Did you, um. Tell Bruce?” Hates how hesitant his voice stands, but Tim doesn’t know what he’ll do if the man finds out, doesn’t know how he’ll take it, and that terrifies him more than he cares to admit.</p><p>“No,” Dick replies, thankfully. “I’ll admit, I wanted to. Especially when…well, you’re lucky the wound didn’t get any worse. I was close to just taking you to Alfred.” Tim’s eyes flick up to meet him, because then why— “But I wanted to talk to you first.”</p><p>Right. <i>Talk</i>. Of course, the one thing Tim would rather jump out of the window than do—<i>bad taste, Tim</i>, he thinks, Dick’s brow furrowing as if he knew what Tim was thinking. But that was ridiculous, of course, so Tim just raises one brow, face impassive. “What about?”</p><p>“I know you’re hurting.” The man’s face splits, for a second, a tear of sorrow revealing itself as he whispers, “I didn’t think it was this bad, but Timmy, oh, little <i>brother.” </i></p><p>Tim watches with blank eyes as Dick gets up before falling on his knees in front of him, loose hands picked up to be clasped tightly in the elder’s. “Tim, please, may I,” and one hand detaches to surreptitiously wipe at his wet lashes, “may I hug you?”</p><p>And. There’s a place in Tim’s chest, that wants to pull away. That wants to burrow under the covers and wait for the world to move on before he can see sunlight again. But his brother’s arms just look so much more <i>warmer</i>.</p><p>Maybe, maybe just this once—“Yes,” he says, and before he can even lean forward, he’s got an armful of shaking Dick. His face is buried in his shoulder, where he can feel a wet spot gathering on the loose T-shirt he’s been dressed in. “Dick, are you—are you <i>crying</i>.”</p><p>“Tim, you—,” and he moves back to face him, but still doesn’t let him move an inch from his embrace. “God, kid,” he murmurs, hands coming up to hold Tim’s face. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Tim’s worried that without the physical contact the man will <i>really</i> start breaking down. “You have no idea how much you scared me back there.”</p><p>Tim’s not sure what look appears on his face, but it makes Dick wrap him up in his arms again. Because the thing is, that Tim scared himself too; he’s not ignorant to his mind’s thoughts, knows he’s not doing <i>okay</i>, per se, but he’d always thought he’d stop himself before it got too bad. Knowing that he hadn’t, knowing that some part of him still didn’t want to, it was scary. </p><p>He isn’t crying. He is <i>not</i>, but Dick strokes the back of his head anyway, carding his hair, still whispers, “I love you, Timmy, so, so much,” as he slowly stops trembling. </p><p>“I love you too, Dick,” he says, muffled, but the man hears it anyway given by the way his arms tighten. </p><p>It takes a few minutes, but Tim’s finally able to breath unrestricted. He’s still not let go of though. “Can you promise to call me when things get this bad, again?” he asks, and Tim exhales, fingers winding through the cloth of the man’s shirt.</p><p>“I promise.” He hopes he can keep it.</p><p>Dick nods, probably picking up on the hesitance in his voice. “Okay, thank you, Timmy.”</p><p>“Uhm,” the words getting caught in his throat, but he chokes them out anyway, “thank you. For. Catching me.”</p><p>He gives a wet laugh, pressing another kiss into Tim’s messy hair. “Don’t thank me, Timmy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Tim might have replied, but the exhaustion from the week still hasn’t been erased, and Dick’s started humming, a soft lulling tune, and the weight of his eyes have grown oh so heavy—</p><p>When he finally drifts off, all his brother does is hold him all the more closer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>requests close tomorrow if you want to pop over to my tumblr and shoot smth in my ask box! and pls feel free to leave me a comment down below if you liked it!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! if you got em, feel free to stick ur thoughts down in the comments, i love getting feedback<br/>hope yall had a good break for the Americans out there, and to everyone else, i hope yall have a good weekend(however timezones work idk)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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